The election season had painted the entire district in banners and voices. Every corner carried the name Veeresh Singh — the people’s choice, the man of vision. Yet for Veeresh, the loudest cheer wasn’t from the crowd outside but from the woman waiting for him back home.

Poornima watched the rally coverage on television, her hand resting gently on her round belly. The haveli was alive with energy — workers came and went, slogans echoed from the gates — but inside, her world remained calm, filled with Ira’s laughter and the gentle movements of the new life growing within her.

Veerendra and Pratap refused to let her lift a finger.

“Beta, you just rest,” Veerendra said, adjusting the pillow behind her back. “The election and the house — both are being handled.”

Poornima smiled, touched. “I am fine, Papa. Just seeing Veeresh’s smile on stage makes me proud.”

Little Ira came running, holding a small flag that said Vote for Veeresh Singh!

“Mumma, see! Papa is on TV!” she chirped, waving the flag.

Poornima pulled her close, kissed her forehead, and whispered, “Yes, darling, and you’re his biggest strength.”

As the day turned into night, the cheering crowds faded, and Veeresh returned home — tired but radiant. He removed his shawl and entered quietly into the room, where Poornima was dozing beside Ira. The soft glow of the lamp made her look ethereal, her face calm and content.

He sat beside her, gently touching her feet.

Poornima stirred awake, smiling faintly. “You’re late again,” she murmured.

Veeresh smiled. “My rally ends, but my day doesn’t — not until I see you.”

He began to massage her feet, careful and loving, his touch carrying all the care his words couldn’t express.

“You shouldn’t,” she said softly. “You must be tired.”

Veeresh shook his head. “I may fight for thousands outside, Poornima… but I come home to fight only for your smile.”

Poornima’s heart swelled at his words. She brushed his hair away from his forehead and said, “You’ve changed so much, Veeresh.”

He looked up, his eyes gleaming with affection. “You made me this way.”

Then, as he always did, he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her baby bump.

“Little one,” he whispered, “your father is trying to win the world out there, but you’ve already conquered him in here.”

Poornima smiled, tears glimmering in her eyes. “You’ll be a wonderful father,” she said softly.

“And you,” he replied, “are already the world’s most beautiful mother.”

He lay beside her, his arm around her waist, hand resting protectively over their unborn child. The night was silent except for the soft rhythm of their breaths — two hearts, one promise, and a future waiting to bloom.